1. |
Golo river
03:53
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Is it the alarm clock that I hear?
I must have been dreaming
I look up - blurred digits say five o o
I fumble for the clock
and my head starts to pound
Confused memories of last night flash
Dinner at “the river of wines” was good
Braised rib steak, Patrimonio red galore
Chestnut custard tart with myrtle wine aplenty
I turn off the alarm clock - why did it go off so early?
Well yesterday I had a good mind to go fishing at dawn this Sunday to watch the sun rise.
I take some tea, some lemon doughnuts and some tobacco,
I jump in my car with my rod and my spoons
bound for la scala da santa regina
where nothing grows and it's granite for miles on end and the Golo follows the tumbling waters down the gorge
Every bend a temptation to drive straight on to be reunited with my friends the trout
I guess last night's drinking got me down and life will be good again when I stand in the water.
That's me there. I park next to the Scarila bridge and walk down the path.
Some time later above the cool and brisk water of the Golo, the sun is rising behind the mountains, while I'm walking back with my first wild trout, leaving my hangover behind with the Golo river.
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2. |
Hello Woody
02:14
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Hello Woody, I read your book tonight
And I’ve learned many things about life
I just wanna say “thanks for your words and your music”
You’ve travelled across your country
You’ve experienced real poverty
You’ve slept in the wreckage of society
You were bound for glory
A glory with no end
A glory that is sleeping on the ground
One of the first who sang with black men in the south
Each time truth ran out of your mouth
You backed up the hands who built the big dams in the west
You refused to be rich, to be a puppet on a string
For your whole life you were an honest man
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3. |
a rambler
03:14
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I am a rambler, i need a ride
To live my life, like anyone else
I am a rambler, I’m dead inside
Inside my heart, inside my head
I am a rambler , I live on the highways
On the sixty one I was born, on the sixty six I will die
I am a rambler, I do my best to stay an honest man
But be careful guys, I’m no angel
I am a rambler, I drift from town to town
I ‘ve been through good times and bad times in the underground
I am a rambler ,Sometimes I go down, down
But my little guitar keeps me alive
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4. |
Inishowen Blues
05:49
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The rain won’t let up, fatigue is persistent
Our faces betray the reality
Eric in the back with his sunglasses on
Though no ray of sun has graced the country’s soil
On this dreary gray day
Yves at the wheel since our departure from Cong
We are reminded of that weekend in Conemarra
A day at the rocky isle of Aran
On our bikes in search of that writer,
Fuelled on our journey by true Irish stout.
And we met on our travels
The rooted gypsies of the island
Who battled a hard living, hands bare
In combat for money they lost
If they yielded
They welcomed us, fed us
and shared a moment in their lives
In this forgotten corner
I searched desperately for a portable radio
Found one with the strains of “Dirty Old Town”
We paused in Sligo for some Irish stew
I took the wheel and navigated
On the opposite side of the road
On the way to Donegal,
And the peninsula of Inishowen.
In the middle of August the green glows emerald,
A colour like I’ve never seen
We passed close to Derry
To the sounds of “Bloody Sunday”
From a band I long ago listened to.
Our final destination: Malin Head,
The northernmost point of Ireland
Our lodging nestled between rocky mountain
And roiling, mysterious sea
Eric retrieves his bottle of Powers,
Yves takes his camera
And I borrow the landlord’s guitar
And we’re swept away by the Irish Inishowen blues.
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5. |
Like an old dinosaur
03:31
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I woke up this morning, turned on the tv
Wars and death everywhere
My screen seemed to be bleeding
Like a piglet whose throat had been slit
So I took my uzi and shot it in the face
Now, I think about Buck with a rope around his neck
I think about the Che murdered by the CIA dogs
And Coltrane looking for freedom with his saxophone
I feel like an old dinosaur
Waiting for the big meteor
That’ll wipe every living thing off this earth
And maybe the giant squid will rule the world forever
I was driving my car last night
Listening to the radio
Slaughters, everywhere
My radio seemed to be crying
Like a young girl scared by wolves
So I took my uzi and shot it in the face
Now, I think about Buck with a rope around his neck
I think about the Che murdered by the CIA dogs
And Coltrane looking for freedom with his saxophone
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6. |
Naiscoot Lake
04:37
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It’s time to head to Naiscoot Lake
Don’t forget your bottle of rosé
And bring along your great olive cake
To keep us warm
I bring matches and old newspapers
To keep the chill at bay
‘cause the humidity is our enemy
Feel the hope in every step
The smell of trees fills the air we breathe
On every path we take, In every glance we steal
Eye contact we break in shyness
Our blood running hot in our veins
It’s time to head to Naiscoot Lake
And I bring my guitar and harmonicas
To play for you a serenade
With my idiot love songs
To caress your delicate soul
Like the good old days
Those former times revisited,
Just this one last time.
Just one more time
at Naiscoot Lake.
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7. |
I aint got no home
03:03
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I ain't got no home, I'm just a-roamin' 'round,
Just a wandrin' worker, I go from town to town.
And the police make it hard wherever I may go
And I ain't got no home in this world anymore.
My brothers and my sisters are stranded on this road,
A hot and dusty road that a million feet have trod;
Rich man took my home and drove me from my door
And I ain't got no home in this world anymore.
Was a-farmin' on the shares, and always I was poor;
My crops I lay into the banker's store.
My wife took down and died upon the cabin floor,
And I ain't got no home in this world anymore.
I mined in your mines and I gathered in your corn
I been working, mister, since the day I was born
Now I worry all the time like I never did before
'Cause I ain't got no home in this world anymore
Now as I look around, it's mighty plain to see
This world is such a great and a funny place to be;
Oh, the gamblin' man is rich an' the workin' man is poor,
And I ain't got no home in this world anymore.
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8. |
wrecked city
04:42
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Bob works hard six days a week
Every night he goes out and feels like a brick
in his whole life he has never shed a tear
He hangs around in bars drinking lots of beer
When he’s too drunk, he wants to fight for fun
All the guys he punched, oh, now they run !!
He’s not ready to calm down He’s not ready to fall down
this urban life blinds him and drives him crazy Welcome to this wrecked city
Janey believed in love when she was young and bold
She lived with a man who didn’t grow old
He would say you can’t remain young if you settle down
So after two years of paradise he left this dirty town
Janey never understood why, now she’s walking on the edge
She’s looking for something else; she’d like to turn the page
she’s not ready to give up pills she’s not ready to cross beautiful hills
this urban life blinds her and drives her crazy Welcome to this wrecked city
Jim, a black boy, been looking for a job
When you’re eighteen and black, it’s hard to find one
He took his father’s gun in his hands
And crawled the streets like a snake in the sand
He stole a car and ran after hours
For a little while, he thought he had the power
He’s not ready to calm down He’s not ready to fall down
this urban life blinds him and drives him crazy Welcome to this wrecked city
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9. |
Walk to Highgate
05:17
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I exit at Archway station
To Walk a mile northwards up to Highgate Hill
I Turn left and cross Waterloo Park
It's a fine, sunny afternoon
The cold damp wind is the sole reminder this is London in the winter
A few passers by watch the squirrels play in the shrubs
I turn left into Swain's lane and enter the area's most famous place:
a graveyard where someone I want to have a word with rests
An old Englishman points me
in the direction of the grave,
And I can see the philosopher's grand retreat
The words on the slab do my heart good
“Workers of all lands, unite
The philosophers have only interpreted the world in various ways
The point however is to change it”
a rush of adrenalin pierces me
What a waste since the day you moved here
your theories kept in the dark by Stalinism
the Spanish disaster nineteen thirty six
Che murder, Castro selling out,
How many lost latin american guerrillas?
In this city where some say three hundred ethnic groups live, it's the same hypocrisy as ever
I raise my eyes to the sky drag on my smoke and whisper
“It's a long way old man, a very long way to where you meant to take us!”
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my hand in your face Poitiers, France
My Hand In Your Face existe depuis 20 ans, d’abord en solo Sam jamme ensuite avec Denis et prend une tournure plus blues . Accompagnés de.Xavier (basse) et de Loic (batterie), la musique évolue dans un rock-folk-blues indé voir psyché, difficile à cerner ! ... more
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